A Story Called Life
by Missybebe
Summary: Following directly the plot of the television series A story called life follows the story of a character called Valerie. A girl whose past has led her to Mystic Falls and by extension straight into the town's supernatural dark side. The story begins a few days before Damon's arrival in town but after the arrival of Stefan. The main plot of the story remains largely unchanged.
1. Chapter 1: Our Story Begins

Mystic Falls, A small town in Virginia halfway between nowhere and nowhere, definitely not her scene. She preferred big cities, when someone wanted to get lost in a crowd it helped if there was actually a crowd to get lost in. These small towns were viciously protective of their slices of countryside and even more suspicious of outsiders. Knowing her luck the second she walked into town she'd get pulled up by the Sheriff for questioning, that, she really didn't need. But she couldn't help it. She was out of money and very nearly out of favours. That was why she was here in the first place, she'd heard a friend of her mother's was living here, and the state she was in now, he was probably the only chance she had of not sleeping in a ditch tonight. That, was definitely worse than dealing with small town mentality.

The taxi to which she had paid the last of her money had dropped her off in front of a large house looming amongst the woods. The Salvatore Boarding House, she'd heard it called, well whether it was an actual boarding house or not she desperately hoped that it had room for one delinquent runaway who needed some time to sort her shit out. She knocked on the front door cautiously, not expecting any sort of welcome, she hadn't seen Zack since she was knee-high to an ant, now a woman of 21, he probably wouldn't even recognise her. She caught sight of herself in a nearby window cringing. She'd definitely looked better the sharp cropped black bob of her hair, without regular styling had become a flat, lifeless mess and with no makeup to cover them up the bags under her eyes were almost bruise-like. Brilliant, she thought, smirking sarcastically, I look like some homeless woman from under a bridge.

Without any warning, the door opened.


	2. Chapter 2: Broody and the lease

The lack of any footsteps leading up to the door's opening had left her startled, a dazed expression on her face. Great, she thought, now I look homeless AND stoned. Sighing she surveyed the scene before her. Standing in the doorway, his expression pensive, was a boy of about 17 with a brooding expression that could put Angel to shame and hair that looked as if he had spent a disproportionately large amount of time styling it that morning. His posture was defensive as he surveyed her with a just short of hostile expression. Snapping to attention at last she straightened, attempting to look as respectable as possible.

"Excuse me umm…" She began.

"Stefan, Stefan Salvatore." He supplied.

"Well excuse me there, Mr Salvatore, but I'm looking for Zack," she announced, "I was told this was where he was living at the moment."

Stefan's eyes squinted as if deliberating, then with no warning he called out into the silent house behind him. A muffled voice replied, and despite its unintelligibility, he seemed to have heard perfectly.

"Wait here," he said in a bored tone, "Zack will be out in a second."

Without any further semblance of conversation, Stefan walked back through the door and disappeared into the darkened interior. What a marvellous conversationalist, she thought sarcastically. Leaning against the doorframe as she waited impatiently for the appearance of Zack Salvatore. Thankfully, he didn't keep her waiting too long. His clear and heavy footfalls reassuring after the ghostly movement of the boy before, his nephew perhaps?

"Hey, uh Zack," she started shakily

Real suave, she thought irately, he's totally going to trust you after an introduction like that.

"Do I know you?" He questioned, eyes roaming over her form.

"I'm Valerie, Miranda's daughter," she answered a little too quickly desperate to recover from her shaky start.

"Oh, come in please. I heard about what happened with-"

"yeah it was tragic," she interjected, "I know you haven't seen me in years Zack but I need a favour. I need a place to stay for a while, I promise I'll pay once I can get a job."

He stopped for a moment, the pair now in a large lounge area with two couches and a fireplace.

"We have a few spare rooms," He began.

"It's okay, I'll sleep on the couch for now, I couldn't ask for a room until I have some money, it wouldn't be right."

He nodded slowly, for some unknown reason a look of concern, no, fear crossing his features.

"You're welcome here for as long as you need," He said finally, "It's the least I could do for Miranda's daughter, but if I may make a recommendation, get out of this town as soon as you can. It's not safe" he finished, emphasizing the last word.

"Don't worry Zack, I had no intentions to linger." She replied truthfully, the quicker she could get out of hill-billy central the better.

Nodding slowly, he motioned to the couch and told her to make herself at home. Directing her towards the locations of the kitchen and the bathroom in turn before leaving her to her thoughts. Eager to scrape off the homeless vibes about her by use of an incredibly long and hopefully hot shower, Valerie quickly unpacked her meagre travelling pack. Halfway through the exercise a strange feeling of being watched filled her and in an instant her knife was in hand as she surveyed the room. For a second she thought she saw the grumpy teenager, Stefan or whatever his name was at the top of the stairs, but one blink later he was gone.

Valerie decided she really needed the shower, and some food and possibly some sleep, before she went entirely insane. Gingerly replacing her knife in the holster in her boot, she trekked to the bathroom, hoping to wash some sanity back into her situation.


	3. Chapter 3: Knives and Narcissism

She was regretting her choice to sleep on the couch.

How was it possible for such an old looking couch to be so goddamned hard? Suffice to say, between her concrete couch and the house's eerie silence it was going to be a long time before she finally fell asleep. The silence was the worst part she thought. So far removed from the rest of the sleepers in the house the only sound to keep her company was her own thoughts. That, and the occasional crackle from the dying fire.

At first she thought she was imagining things, it almost seemed as if she could hear voices from upstairs. Who would be awake at this hour? She thought sleepily. Listening with more care she recognised one of the voices as belonging to Stefan McBroodypants, who had incidentally gone out of his way to avoid her since she arrived here. No matter how long she'd been on the road surely she didn't smell THAT bad. The other voice was also male, but had a sort of cocky tone that she couldn't imagine Zack using ever. Suddenly there was a crash, like a breaking window and a heavy thud on the grass outside. A sudden burst of adrenaline shocked her system and she was torn between her desire to see what was going on, and to stay out of it. Feigning sleep she slowly reached her hand under her pillow until her fingers grasped the cool handle of her knife. Barely breathing she listened closely to the situation outside.

Strangely both voices had seemed to have relocated to the front lawn, which was impossible as they would have had to walk past her to get there. Unless they jumped of course, but that was a two storey drop, no one who'd just fallen that far would be carrying casual conversation. There'd be a lot more screaming.

She found herself wishing she could make out the words, naturally curious about the sudden disturbance to this quiet small-town night. Yet her curiosity could not shake the slight feeling apprehension filling her gut, causing her grip on the knife to tighten. She heard the door open and immediately tensed. A few light footsteps followed.

"Now what do we have here?" The cocky voice questioned quietly, the sound of his voice getting closer with each syllable, "St Stephen left me a snack."

His fingertips began to lightly brush her shoulder but before they had moved half a centimetre, Valerie had whipped around and had her knife poised at the intruders throat.

"Touch me again and I swear to God you'll regret it," She spat, trying to cover up the faint tremble in her voice.

Wordlessly he grabbed her wrist and squeezed. The force he exerted was incredible and before she could stop herself, she yelped with surprise and pain.

"Touch ME again and I may have to break your wrist," he retorted with an air of nonchalance, "which would be a shame considering how pretty you are."

Removing the knife from her hand and pinning her against the couch in one deft motion he paused to give her a long sweeping look over, not even trying to hide the fact that he seemed to be checking her out. Without warning he released her and stood up.

"Relax, I don't bite, at least not until I've gotten to know you," he said with a wink, "So what name is this lovely young lady going by?"

"Valerie," she whispered, fear and confusion stealing the last of her bravado.

"Well Valerie, you should probably keep in mind that it's considered quite rude to attack people with knives in their own homes," he stated patronisingly, handing her the knife, "Some people might get offended."

His eyes took on a strange almost feral sheen at the word "offended". Turning slowly he made as if to leave. Warmth rose to her cheeks in a moment of shame, before something pertinent occurred to her.

"I was under the impression that it was quite rude to molest sleeping women in their own homes," she retorted with a smirk.

"Touché," he replied, the cockiness in his tone unaffected by her clever comeback.

Still walking away he paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned back to face her.

"Damon, Damon Salvatore," he said flashing her a quick smile, "I'm the older brother."

In a flash he was gone. No one can move that fast, Valerie thought ponderously. Either she really was going insane, or the Salvatore's were some sort of freaks of nature.

"I really hate small towns," she muttered bitterly as she rolled back over and went to sleep.


End file.
